


Fine, Delicate, Tempting Things

by exquisitelymorose



Category: Sharp Objects (2018), Sharp Objects - Gillian Flynn, Sharp Objects HBO
Genre: F/M, Lust, Marriage, Temptation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-06-30 21:44:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15760296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exquisitelymorose/pseuds/exquisitelymorose
Summary: "He’s been caught in conversation, even over heard whispers at this event and that function - the men he meets who have had one too many drinks, feeling brave and benevolent over cigars outside, they all have one thing in mind. Adora."A look at moments in the lives of Adora's men and the way they perceive her, the most unreachable and perhaps lusted after of Wind Gaps elite women.





	Fine, Delicate, Tempting Things

When Bill Vickery is 7 years old his father gets a new pickup truck. It sits on the dirt of their driveway, gleaming in the hot mid afternoon sun. Bill sits in the window, a fan whirring behind him, moving his head from side to side to watch as glints of light move over the entirely too clear glass of the windshield. He can hear his mother in the kitchen humming along to something on the radio and knows that his father is somewhere in the back of the house, cleaning up for dinner. He knows it will be days, maybe more than a week until his father will take him for a ride. He’s pulling doubles at work and when he comes home, he moves straight for the brown bottles in the fridge and doesn’t grumble more than a few words to his wife and children. But, Bill thinks, he wants to be in that truck. Like all the men he knows, the ones who ruffle his hair and tell him stories of what it’ll be like when he’s grown, he wants to own that truck.

Bill is glancing over his shoulder, through the window and stepping lightly on the rocks beneath his feet before he really notices that he’s out the door. The light blue paint mixed with the silver chrome is too enticing for him, just a curious child, to ignore. He works his way around, quietly orbiting the whole vehicle, never once reaching a finger out until he’s circled back to the passenger side door. He knows that in time he’ll be able to open the door, to crawl in and ride the streets of Wind Gap with his father, maybe to the general store or on a beer run during a sweltering Missouri evening. Even the door handle, shining and silver, doesn’t have so much as a fingerprint smudge on it. Bill reaches out and rubs a chubby child’s finger across the cool handle. He flexes his palm, fingers about to wrap around when he hears something over his shoulder. Before Bill can really register what’s happening, a large hand is grasping him by the shoulder,

“What are you doing boy?” comes the angry growl of his father. Bill tries his best to stutter out a reply, he really does but he can’t think of a good enough reason to speak, “You don’t touch what ain’t yours!”

He’s steered back inside. His father shakes his head at him and sends him into the kitchen to help his mother with dinner. Bill’s placing forks on the table when his father goes out the front door, the hard slam vibrating through the walls. Finally his mother who’d been ignoring him turns on her heel and takes him in with sad eyes. It’s not that she doesn’t want to stick up for him, it’s just that she’d given up trying years ago.

“Why’d you do that baby?” comes her quiet, slow drawl, “you know daddy gets mad about that sort of thang’.”

Bill only shrugs again, not really sure what to say. Because the truth is just that he wanted to. Probably because he knew he wasn’t supposed to.

When Alan Crellin is 13 years old, he’s sent to spend a weekend with his paternal grandmother. He feels that he’s certainly old enough to stay alone and he’s not quite sure why he’s not given the option until the day he leaves. His parents had told him they were going on a trip but when they leave the house to drop him off he notices that neither of them have bags packed. His mother, strong willed and notoriously prepared would never be going somewhere without having been packed for at least a few days. He reflects on the last year, the way their house had moved between tense and unsettled to eerily calm. As his mother hugs him goodbye on the door step he realizes that they’re probably not leaving at all. They’ll be in their shared home, having conversations that no young man needs to hear.  

He enters his grandmother’s home through the old oak door feeling sick and hot. Alan is a peacekeeper and when he can’t diffuse a volatile fight between his parents, he keeps his mouth shut. He wonders what will happen without him there. But then all at once, he’s distracted by the state of the home. The thin, decorative pieces in china cabinets, over stuffed antique chairs, and family heirlooms on display. Rarely do they visit his grandmother in her home, Alan’s father prefers to keep the visits with the aging, distant matriarch to an infrequent minimum and he’s forgotten how much it feels like stepping into a museum. All it’s missing is red velvet ropes to section off the rooms that hold nothing but aesthetic purpose.

He spends most of the two days lying on the cool floor, reading the books he’s brought along and listening to the radio. Rarely does he venture into the front room that holds his grandmothers most precious items. She dusts and polishes them like they’re worth more than life itself. On the last day, after finishing his second novel, he tip toes on the squeaking hard wood floor and into the front room. Inside the china cabinet is a large plate, an ornate picture of a rabbit in a forest scene painted on it. He’d first eyed it as an eager toddler, wanting to grab everything in sight. Even then he’d understood the boundaries put forward by a determined, icy gaze. But he was nearly a man now, able to handle things with care as his grandmother rested a floor above him. He twisted the gold key where it stayed pushed into the lock of the china cabinet. It opened noiselessly to the intricate display. Alan wiped his hands along his crisp, clean pants and reached for the rabbit plate. It was cool and impossibly thin in his hand, so fragile, incredibly breakable. Some part of him thinks of taking it, throwing it against the perfect grains of the hardwood floor – a thrill runs through his spine. A creak comes from overhead and Alan quickly, carefully places the plate back in its gold stand. The key is turned, the cabinet locked and Alan is back in his chair, re-reading a page of the book he’s already finished as his grandmother descends the stairs.

When his parents pull up to the old home, he feels disappointed for a moment. A full weekend in a house with all these gorgeous things and he’d only barely given them the appreciation they deserved. Sure, he’d looked but to hold them in his hands, truly feel them and know them, that would be a different experience entirely. He remembers the plate, the small, seemingly insignificant moment in which he’d held it like it were his own and thinks that maybe that was all he needed. Just that could get him by.

Bill Vickery is 28 years old when he really meets Adora Crellin. He’d be lying if he said that he hadn’t noticed her for years, back when she was just young Adora Preaker starting high school as he was leaving it. But they were what some might refer to as “from opposite sides of tracks” - literally. But then he’s promoted to “Chief” Bill Vickery as Chief Charles Raleigh retires. They decide to throw a BBQ in the park to celebrate the former Chief and his service to the town – of course everyone is invited and a special thanks is made to Adora who supplies the meat, free of cost, now that she runs Preaker Farms after the passing of her parents. She’s there in a satin blue dress, no sweat beading on her forehead or an imperfection on her skin or in her hair. She’s a vision and everyone knows it. His wife, Jocelyn, is pouring him another lemonade as he makes eye contact with Adora across the park. Her arm is fit neatly into the crook of her husbands, a handsome, well-dressed man. Bill knows he should look away but she’s standing there, unflinching, holding his gaze. It’s mesmerizing. As Jocelyn hands him his glass, he’s the first to look away.

The day wanes on and people stick around longer than they expected. Sometimes the heat forces people back to their homes, searching for a reprieve. Sometimes, like this day, it makes everyone languid as they relax into spiked sweet teas and pleasant conversation. Bill can’t help that his eye seems to follow Adora as she sweeps from one group to the next. Animal instinct, he reasons. She’s a beautiful woman, more self-possessed then women twice her age, with a body that boasts her young age of 24 but not the two children she’s already carried. He’s certain that he sees her looking back at him and it makes something that feels like pride well up in his chest, being noticed by a woman like that. But it falls away, the pride and the confidence, when she catches him by surprise at the refreshment table.

“Chief Vickery,” she says smoothly behind him. He turns and his breath catches as he comes just a foot from her iced blue eyes and painted lips, “Adora Crellin,” she says and extends a hand with impeccable nails. He tries not to seem too eager as he slips his hand into hers gently. She’s just so… delicate.

“Adora,” her name rolls off his tongue as though he’s said it 100 times, “thank you so much for everything you’ve done today. The people of Wind Gap are serious about their barbecue.”

“Really, it’s the least we could do. Chief Raleigh has been such a blessing to this town and of course, we wanted to do what we could to make you feel welcome.” She rests a hand over his bicep and gives a gentle squeeze as the final word makes its way from her mouth. He feels his pants tighten.

“Well you absolutely did, Ms. Crellin.”

“Please,” she lifts a hand gracefully, “just Adora.”

“Well Adora, let me introduce you to my wife.”

The blonde smiles graciously and he turns to lead her the few feet to where his wife is stood with a group of women, laughing easily and drunkenly. As he makes his introductions, he can’t help but notice the stark difference between Adora and the rest of the women, his wife included. Where their makeup is caked and smudged from the day, hers sits seemingly untouched and unmoved. Where they are loud and brazen, cackling and cracking jokes, she is demure and deliberate. Where they are casual and open, women he could reach out and hug or kiss easily, she is poised and unattainable, a woman not meant for him or people like him. He knows then that he wants her. When her husband gives her a small wave and she excuses herself, Bill touches the small of her back so lightly he’s barely sure he’s made contact. When she’s gone, Jocelyn gives him a strange, questioning look that begs the question “why did you touch that strange woman?” All he can do is give a small smile. Probably because he knows he wasn’t supposed to.

Alan Crelin is 58 when the 25th anniversary of the day he met Adora Preaker happens upon the calendar. She’s Adora Crellin now and she is just as beautiful, pristine and exquisite, as the day they met. And she knows it. In fact, the whole town knows it. It’s been years since he had a real, true close friend but Alan’s definitely been around the men of Wind Gap as much as he cares to be since he moved into that award winning estate with his bride all those years ago. He’s been caught in conversation, even over heard whispers at this event and that function - the men he meets who have had one too many drinks, feeling brave and benevolent over cigars outside, they all have one thing in mind. Adora. They open with anecdotes about their wives and their sex lives, tell lewd tales about days gone by but its all a leading act, one that Alan knows will eventually turn to him and suddenly all eyes will be on him, open and expectant. What is it like to fuck Adora Crellin, the most unreachable and perhaps lusted after of Wind Gaps elite women? What a lucky man he must be to watch that woman, arrogant and aloof, come undone. 

Sometimes, when there’s more whiskey than there should be in his veins, a lingering resentment under his skin, he considers it. He could lean forward into the booze soaked breath of those waiting men and tell them she’s a banshee, wild and untamed - that their sex life is unlike anything you could ever imagine. He could take the image she’s so carefully crafted all these years and shatter it in one go, appeasing the filthy minds of these bored men. But he doesn’t. Because he’s Alan and he can’t. And because it wouldn’t be true. Yes, he supposes that if anyone in this world holds knowledge of the sexuality, the body of Adora, it’s him. But he bets he could better describe the body of the barely dressed woman who works at the record shop he frequents then he could his wife. So he only smirks, “a gentlemen never tells.” And sometimes the men whistle and smirk back but mostly, the disappointment lies over there face, sad and transparent. 

He, just like everyone else, watches her from across a room, that wife of his. Delicate, beautiful, elegant. And goddamnit, fucking distant. He barely knows her. In 25 years, he’s never been able to do the things he’s imagined, the things most couples have tried and been bored of 100 times over. To lean her over his desk, to sit her on their counter, to pull her onto his lap or place his head between her legs. He wants to know her, at times to ruin her, and to see her in the way that everyone is envious of him being privy to. Instead, he thrills at the touch of her hand on his arm, her lips against his cheek, a small squeeze of her hand in his and when he’s fortunate, the gentle press of her body against his when he can say just the right thing to pull her along to a song in the privacy of their own home. Passion is not something thats existed between them. He can think of only few moments.

They’d been at a party, a charity function. The men were in black tie, the women in dresses they’d never have an opportunity to wear again. Alan had been stood with a group of men he barely knew, talking golf when suddenly he felt Adora by his side. It was rare to have a moment alone with her at these things, she was always hosting, even when it wasn’t her event. Alan had turned, a smile over his face when he felt her small hand wrap lightly around his neck, fingers grazing his hair as she just barely pulled him. He leaned into it, not quite knowing what she was doing until her lips were against his, bold and hard. Something in his mind snapped, he didn’t care where he was or why it was happening, he just let his hand quickly find her hip as he took the kiss for all it had. When she pulled away, Alan had to blink twice to be sure he hadn’t been part of a huge mistake, that it really was his wife. It was. She patted his cheek and said something he’d forgotten in only seconds before floating off. The men all watched him, wide eyed, as a flush came over his face. Pride, slight embarrassment, mostly confusion. Alan could count on two hands how many times Adora had initiated something between them, and never, ever had he thought she would do it in public.

For a moment he allowed himself silly, boyish thoughts. His suit was new… Jackie was fighting with her husband… Maybe Adora had seen him across the room and in moment of liquid vulnerability, decided to let him know she appreciated the way he looked. Or maybe Jackie was complaining, crying in a bathroom and Adora had been overcome with affection for her own, maybe too harmonious and uneventful marriage. But then Jackie is swaying near him at the bar, muttering something and the daydreams break and fall away.

“That Adora, she sure showed her.”

When Alan asks her to repeat herself, she explains. That woman in the corner, the brunette in the deep green dress, beautiful in her own right and a new hot commodity in Wind Gap, had set her eyes on Alan, not knowing he was married. Certainly not knowing to whom. Adora made sure there’d be no confusion for the rest of the night. He feels that hope, that spark of something fade within him. But he doesn’t let it die, not completely. He takes his drink and goes out the door to find his wife alone outside, enjoying the cooler air outside of the buildings oppressive heat. She’s got her back to him and with the cut of her dress he can see her shoulders, the top of where her spine dips into her back. He allows himself to appreciate the beauty before he goes to her. She just barely glances over her shoulder as she hears him coming. Alan sets his drink on the porch railing and takes his arm, wraps it around the middle of his wife. She doesn’t tense, doesn’t relax, doesn’t speak but she lays a hand over his arm and he thinks for a moment that this will be their night. It’s been over a year since they’ve been together. But then he ducks his head and lightly presses his lips to her neck, just under her ear. Before he can think to turn her in his arms, his name leaves her mouth, a slow and calculated warning. Her hand falls from his arm.

“God, Alan, not here. Not now.” 

He feels everything at once. Crushing disappointment, aching heart break, the depths of his neglected arousal, the need to strike her, the need to fuck her, the need to make love to her- to have her. Instead, his hands fall to his sides. He doesn’t even so much as sigh as he turns to walk away. Then he feels her hand on his arm again so he turns, the way he always does, back to her. She gives him that sweet, sympathetic smile, the one he loves as much as he loathes and reaches on her toes to press a kiss to his cheek. His consolation prize. And as she turns back to the cool evening air he thinks that maybe that was all he needed. Just that could get him by.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm saddened by the lack of fiction written about this book and this amazing series. There's a 15 year age gap between Adora and Alan in the novel but I wrote this as if they were a little closer, as the series implies. Please, please if you read, leave kudos and reviews to encourage me and other writers to continue writing for these characters. Thank you so much.


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